


Naked Terror

by Bunnywest



Series: Bunny's Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, First Meetings, Good Peter Hale, M/M, Meet-Cute, Steter - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 01:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12972594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter's only here to inspect the fire extinguisher. The last thing he expects is for a naked man to come charging at him, swinging a baseball bat and screaming.





	Naked Terror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avalihn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avalihn/gifts).



> Based on this Tumblr post  
> https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/post/168371815421/stephrc79-riverofwhispers-iverbz
> 
> Because Avalihn on Tumblr asked for it.  
> "Could we possibly get a Steter fic based on the “I sleep in the nude” post?? "

 

Peter’s always known he’s more than just a pretty face. He just uses his looks because it‘s easy and lucrative.

Lucrative enough that he often treats himself to the best scented candles, and the finest wine.

Those two, as it turns out, are a dangerous combination. As he’s dragged screaming from the burning building, still drunk, they tell him he‘s lucky to be alive.

 

In the months that follow, as he endures the changing of his dressings, and the abrading of the dead skin, and the grafts, and the physio, he doesn’t feel lucky.

As he sees his visitors dwindle because they can’t look at the shiny, stretched skin on his face without flinching, he doesn’t feel lucky.

As he sits there while his boyfriend of two years breaks up with him, crying and saying “I just..I can’t, Peter. I’m sorry” he doesn’t feel lucky.

 

That comes later.

Finally, there’s a day where he’s able to get out of bed, dress himself without pain, and leave the hospital.

That’s the day he decides that despite everything, he _is_ lucky.

After the fire, he’ll never work as a model again, so his therapist encourages him to find something he’s passionate about, and pursue that.

“Anything, Peter. Something that makes you want to get out of bed in the morning, something where you really feel you’re making a difference” she encourages him earnestly.

“Unlike modeling?” he answers meanly, just to see her squirm.

He knows she means well, they all _mean well_ ,  but he’s sick and tired of physios and therapists and doctors telling him that he can still have a meaningful, worthwhile life, even _with_ his scars.

He isn’t sure if they’re trying to convince him or themselves.

He knows he was lucky – with skin grafts and surgery, he’s escaped with little to no loss of motion in his shoulder, and the scarring on his body is minimal.

It doesn’t erase the months of pain and recovery.

It doesn’t stop him tensing up every time he smells smoke.

And it doesn’t stop the terrifying dreams.

Those are the things Peter finds it hardest to deal with, in the small hours of the morning.

As he sits in his bed, shaking from the latest nightmare, thinking that he wouldn’t wish this on his worst enemy, he thinks again about what his therapist said – _do something where you really feel you’re making a difference._

 

* * *

 

When all’s said and done, Peter is a pragmatist.

He’s thought long and hard about what he wants to do, and so he goes ahead and does it.

Peter joins the fire department.

When he first applies, they’re frankly horrified.

‘Mr Hale, are you sure you can be around fire with your history?” they ask at his interview.

‘Oh, I have no intention of going anywhere near a flame” he responds, having given it a lot of thought.

‘I want to be your horrible warning.”

There’s a sudden silence in the room.

Finally, one of the interviewers gathers the courage to ask Peter “Could you clarify that?”

“Certainly. There’s an old saying – if you can’t be a good example, at least be a horrible warning.

I’m it. I had no smoke alarms in my house. No fire blankets. No working extinguishers. Anyone of those things would have saved me from this” he gestures to his face.

Then he leans forwards in his chair, and steeples his fingers under his chin.

“Can you imagine” he asks “If I was the one asking people to check their extinguishers? Do you think if I turned up at your door, looking like this you’d turn me away?”

He turns his vividly blue eyes on them, staring them down, and they look away, unable to help themselves.

“That’s what I thought. I want to work for the department in an auxiliary capacity, as a fire safety inspector.”

“I’m not sure if that’s possible” one man starts, but Peter continues smoothly “Or, I did think about offering to give fire safety talks at schools, perhaps.”

He hears one of the men mutter “Sweet Jesus” at the thought, and he smiles to himself.

He has no interest in going to schools and interacting with overworked teachers and obnoxious children, but he knows that faced with a choice, they’ll jump at the lesser of the two evils.

He walks out with the job.

He might be scarred, but he’s still using his face to get what he wants.  

* * *

 

Peter wasn’t kidding.

His face really does work as a horrible warning.  When he knocks on an apartment door and says he’s there to check the extinguishers, nobody dares turn him away.

Occasionally a woman home alone will hesitate, but Peter will cheerfully tell her “I totally understand. Can’t be too careful.”

And his hands will touch his cheek absently as he sighs “I wish I’d learned that sooner.”

And then he’ll smile brilliantly when she decides that maybe he should come in, after all. He’ll even make a point of showing her his ID.

It’s rare for Peter not to complete an inspection.

There’s one building on his list though, that’s the bane of his life. It’s full of cheap apartments, rented to college kids.

There are eight apartments that he just hasn’t been able to get to, despite repeated visits.

Peter knows how college kids live, OK? He knows there’s a high chance that they’re smoking pot, lighting candles, making s’mores over the hotplate, and the thought gives him chills.

He starts to obsess about inspecting those eight apartments, and he does some investigating to find out his options.

He’s happy to find out that he can arrange with the building management to inspect the apartments in question without the occupants being home. They’ll get a letter informing them of the visit. Peter will get a key to the door.

Perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles lays naked in his bed, the fan aimed directly at him and turned on full blast.

He can’t afford an apartment with air conditioning, not on a student’s budget. And even if he could, he can’t afford the electricity to run it.

So he resorts to laying naked under a fan to try and sleep in the sweltering summer heat after working a night shift.

It takes him a long time to drift off, but finally there’s enough sweat coating his body that when the fan hits the damp patches he feels slightly cooler, and he settles into a sweaty, restless sleep.

He’s jolted awake by the sound of the front door opening.

He sits up suddenly, heart racing.

Someone’s breaking in.

Stiles can hear them coming inside, and he freezes, because he’s naked and there’s an intruder.

The footsteps get closer.

Stiles figures he has approximately  6.4 seconds before they’re in his bedroom trying to kill him, and he panics.

He ignores his boxers lying on the floor, and goes instead for the baseball bat that he keeps propped against the wall.

Clothing is the least of his worries right now, staying alive is his priority.

Taking a deep breath, he throws the bedroom door open with a bang, and runs out completely naked, swinging his bat like a madman and screaming “AAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!”” at the top of his lungs.

He swings wildly, aiming for the man who’s standing in the middle of the living room.

The man’s eyes widen in shock as Stiles comes flying towards him, dick and bat both swinging, and he barely manages to dodge the blow aimed for his head.

Stiles swings again, and the man dodges the hit, cowering behind his…..clipboard?

Stiles blinks, and takes a decent look at the man who has his arms up defensively, and yes, that’s a clipboard that he’s holding, and he’s wearing a fire department uniform.

They stand there staring at each other, until Stiles lowers his bat, breathing heavily.

Finally Peter lowers his clipboard cautiously, before extending a hand.

“Peter Hale. Fire Safety. I’m here to check your extinguishers. You should have been notified?”

“Oh fuck. The letter” Stiles breathes out.

The letter that he got last week, threw onto the coffee table, and promptly forgot about.

Peter adds “That’s a very impressive ….bat you’re sporting there, by the way” with a quirked eyebrow and a nod at Stiles’ exposed genitals.

Stile is still trying to process exactly what’s happened.

He was asleep, then he was awake, then there was a burglar, then it turned out to be a fireman, and now he’s standing here naked holding a baseball bat, and if he didn’t know better, he’d say the man was eyeing him up.

“Um” he says eloquently.

Peter casts an eye around the room, and finds a discarded towel. He grabs it and hands it to Stiles, saying “My apologies for disturbing you. You were asleep, I presume?”

“Yeah. Night shift” Stiles replies, accepting the towel absently.

He takes a good look at the man, Peter, who has an amused smile on his face.

It’s a nice face.

Gorgeous eyes, and a strong jawline, only slightly marred.

Stiles can see that he has an obvious burn scar on his neck and the lower part of his face, but he finds that he doesn’t mind it, not really.

Peter’s hot, despite the scars.

Night work really does a number on Stiles, so it takes him a minute to realize that he’s staring.

Peter’s expression hardens as Stiles stares, and his smile disappears completely.

It suddenly occurs to Stiles that Peter must think he’s looking at the scars, when in fact he’s looking at, well, everything.

He starts apologizing, saying “Oh, shit. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t staring, well, I was, but not at that, I mean, not at your face, I mean I was looking at your face, but only because it’s a nice face, I was looking at all of you really, because I mean, have you seen you? Damn...”

He stops, takes a breath, and starts again.

“I’m Stiles. I was asleep. Sorry for trying to kill you with my bat.”

Peter’s smile is back, and he observes “You really are tired, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” Stiles asks, stung.

He thought he was making perfect sense.

“Well, you’re still naked” Peter smirks.

“Not that I’m complaining about the view, you understand. I mean, definitely don’t get dressed on my account” he continues, looking Stiles up and down shamelessly.

Stiles finally realizes why Peter gave him the towel.

He wraps it hastily around his waist, blushing.

“You’re pretty when you blush, you know that?” Peter says offhandedly, and Stiles blinks, because is Peter _flirting with him?_

Peter picks up his clipboard, smiles mischievously, and says “So tell me, any problems with your nozzle output?”

Stiles laughs so hard he drops the towel.

Peter doesn’t seem to mind.

 In fact, he starts laughing as well, and by the time he leaves he has Stiles’ number.

He counts it as a successful visit.

 

* * *

 

Years later, when people ask how he met his husband, Peter tells them “I was doing a fire safety check, and Stiles thought I was a burglar.  He came at me swinging his massive…bat.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come prompt me on Tumblr - go on, you know you want to....
> 
> https://bunnywest.tumblr.com/


End file.
